


echo a name in the night

by ggwynbleidd



Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: Bar Fight, M/M, Tumblr Prompt, Unresolved Emotional Tension, alcohol use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:15:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28642809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ggwynbleidd/pseuds/ggwynbleidd
Summary: Charles gets a call in the middle of the night.Based off of the combined Tumblr prompts "I called you at 2am because I need you" and "Playing with their hair while their head’s in your lap."
Relationships: Magnus Hammersmith/Charles Foster Offdensen
Comments: 12
Kudos: 13





	echo a name in the night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [glukupikron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glukupikron/gifts).



The neighborhood that Charles lived in was very quiet. He liked it that way and it was definitely something he had sought out when looking for a place. At most there was only the constant background hum of cicadas and crickets if he kept the windows open when things were warm, but not smothering. The occasional sound of traffic would dwindle down into a comfortable nothingness by the time most everyone came home from work, ten o’clock at the latest. His neighbors were polite and even when they had their own get-togethers over the weekends they would keep it just as quiet as he did when he had people over. As infrequently as that happened for him - since his weekends were usually spent with him staying up past midnight, watching his crime documentaries and maybe eating some junk food.

Which is why the sound of his phone ringing past midnight about made him jump out of his skin. The loud digital beeping jostled Charles from his place on the sofa and was, somehow, the loudest thing he had heard in the past four hours. Ring. He almost held his breath, trying to will the caller away. Ring. However, it was awfully late. Ring. Could be an emergency. Ring. But it could also be Pickles, who was calling him because he had been drinking or smoking or otherwise ingesting some kind of substance and had been struck with an _idea_. Ring. It could also be Nathan, in the hospital for reasons beyond Charles. Ring. Or just Murderface who was calling to essentially tattle on the rest of the band. Ring. Perhaps it was Skwisgaar, who was now on the receiving end of stalking and death threats from a jilted husband. Ring. Or maybe Magnus-

“You’ve reached the number of Charles Offdensen. I’m not available right now,” his own voice, alien in its tinny tone and high pitch, echoed from his answering machine in the corner. “If you could, please leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you A-S-A-P! If there’s an emergency, you can page me, but only if it’s an emergency. Please. Please actually have an emergen-”

He had forgotten that he had run out of time when he was recording that message, and he had forgotten to re-record it. The little line about actual emergencies was meant to be specifically addressed to the band. Because one of them had gotten their hands on the number for his pager and all five of them had drastically different definitions of the word “emergency” than Charles.

“Hey Charles?” the voice on the other end of the phone finally decided to speak after a few seconds of dead air. Magnus. “Cha-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-arles. It’s two...two-fifteen, or some shit...on a Saturday. I know you’re up. I know you like to stay up.”

Charles rubbed his eyes under his glasses and sighed.

“You’re just watching your creepy little murder shows and drinking wine. Answer the phone. Stop screening my calls,” Magnus continued to talk. His voice was slurred and distant, Charles could almost pick up the sound of traffic in the background, maybe some conversation. “I’m at a phone booth and I’m running out of change and I am bleeding. I’m gonna bleed out in the street, man, I swear to God.”

“B-bleeding?!” Charles sputtered as he picked up the phone. “Why are you bleeding?”

“Got in a fight,” the statement was said with the same level of casualness that Magnus would use describing something he saw on television. “I’m at, uh, Zebrowski’s. On...on Parks street.”

“Right, right, I think I know that one. Stay put. I’ll...I’ll come get you,” it was out of his mouth without him even meaning to say it. Okay. So he was going to drive out and get Magnus. He could have offered to call for a cab. Maybe even just suggest he walk home. If it was the bar he thought it was, it wasn’t far from the apartment the boys shared anyway. “See you in a bit.”

“Buh-bye.”

Magnus’ statements about his health and bodily well-being were always about fifty-fifty. He had declared one time that he had pneumonia, only for Charles to shell out for a hospital visit to be told that Magnus had tragically been struck down by hayfever. And the time that Magnus had said he just had a “little something” actually had turned out to be pneumonia. So when Charles saw that Magnus’ threat of bleeding out in the streets was from a little cut on his face - and not that he was currently cradling his intestines in his hands from a knife wound to the belly - he was both unsurprised and relieved.

There was a bruise flushed on his cheek next to the cut and his knuckles were scraped raw. Judging by the cagey looks some of the smoking patrons and the bouncer kept giving him, Charles diagnosed this as a classic bar fight. The two of them stood in silence for a moment, Charles peering out in the darkness next to his car as Magnus leaned against the payphone he had presumably called him on. As he stood to go and great Charles he weaved and Charles bit back a sigh of displeasure.

“Hi,” Magnus waved his hand lamely.

“Evening, Magnus. Or morning. It’s almost three,” Charles jerked his head towards his car idling on the street behind him. “Come on.”

The first thing Magnus did when he sat down in the passenger seat was not to buckle his seatbelt, or explain his situation, or even thank Charles for the ride. No, of course not. It was to turn on Charles’ cassette player and turn up the volume. Though that was _almost_ fair since it was one of Magnus’ cassettes in the car in the first place.

“So,” despite his displeasure, Charles still drummed his fingers on the steering wheel to the music playing. “Do you want to go back to the apartment, or-”

“Nope,” Magnus turned in his seat to gaze at the side of Charles’ head. “I wanna go home with you-u-u-u-u-u. You’re special.”

“Thank you,” Charles rolled his eyes. Cut a glance at Magnus at a stoplight. “What happened back there, Magnus?”

“Guy bumped into me. I was like, ‘Hey, asshole-’ and he called me a dumbass or some shit. I shoved him. He clocked me in my jaw,” replied Magnus with a shrug. “And I got kicked out. Me! I mean he did, too, but still. Fuckin’ prick. Aw, fuck, my cigarettes…”

Magnus palmed his jeans and the multiple pockets of his jacket. His random groping proved to be fruitless, producing only a lighter and nothing more.

“Magnus...I have asked you how many times now? To not do that? I don’t know which is worse, when you do this completely by yourself with no immediate support system to look after you or when you do this and drag one of the other guys into it with you,” Charles looked over again when he heard his glove box opening, eyes narrowing as he watched Magnus dig through it for an unopened pack of Charles’ own cigarettes. “Oh, help yourself.”

“Thanks,” Magnus grinned at him. Charles was unsure if his drunkenness made him more oblivious or if that was the purposeful obtuseness that Magnus did so frustratingly well.

Which was yet another one of those little things about Magnus. A coin flip and the reason behind him acting, saying or doing something a certain way was completely different. An innocent joke was a two-faced jab, stupidity intentional ignorance to slip out of trouble, a bristly and short reply was less from anger and more from wounded feelings.

“And the fighting? What if they had called the cops? I can’t just bail you out and represent you in court constantly. I have other things to do, a set amount of money, a set amount of time. It’s...it’s too much, Magnus. I hate to say this but this behavior from anyone isn’t acceptable, but especially from you. We’ve talked about this and you’ve said that you wanted to stop and _will you stop?!_ ” Charles interrupted himself with a snap. The entire time he had been talking there had been a gentle _slap slap slap_ of a pack of cigarettes against Magnus’ palm. “What does that do anyway? It’s not a drink you have to shake. Do you need to wake the cigarettes up?”

“Nuh-uh,” Magnus said with a shrug. “It’s, uh, packing the tobacco down in the paper. Burns longer.”

Charles saw him pull cellophane off the pack with his teeth. He also watched as that cellophane fell to the floor of his car. And the foil in the pack quickly joined it. Charles knew that was the only trash in the floor of his car now, just sort of innocently rolling around, maybe even hiding under the seat to wait until the next time he got his car detailed.

“You’re avoiding my lecture,” he declared as he turned the last turn to his house. “You’ve talked about this. Wanting to get in control of your...outbursts. Stopping the, uh, the anger issues. If drinking is a thing that aggravates it, why drink? If there’s a problem, then I can get you in touch with people who can-”

The sight of a man as tall as Magnus shrinking in on himself like a lectured toddler was not a new sight for Charles. He heard the little sigh. He turned his head as he pulled into his driveway to see the sad look in Magnus’ eyes and the shiny, wet gloss they had. He saw Magnus’ hand reaching up to his face to pick at the infant scab there. The telltale signs that Charles had somehow overstepped and in Magnus’ brain had become cruel in his words. And he knew that anything else he was saying was going to go in one ear and out the other. Or at least, more so than it usually did.

“I’m sorry,” Charles managed. The car was off. There were no other sounds, not even crickets. “Come inside.”

Charles exited his car and while Magnus lingered, he followed suit. He was at least grateful that there was no dramatic declaration from Magnus that he was just going to sleep in the car and be less of a bother. The silence of Charles’ house was smothering when they walked inside. It was dark, almost too dark, the only light on was from a light above the kitchen sink Charles kept on and a small lamp on the table next to the sofa. Despite that there was something almost instantly more homey with Magnus here. There was the worn denim hanging next to the thin fleece jacket Charles had worn to combat the briskness of the autumn air. The heeled, pointed toe boots next to the jogging sneakers Charles had slipped into.

“I’ll sleep on the sofa,” Magnus offered.

“You’ll bleed on my pillows,” Charles replied. It was a genuine concern. His mother had just bought those for him as a very late housewarming gift. “Let me clean you up. And Magnus?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re always welcome in my bed.”

The light in the ceiling of Charles’ bathroom would blink from time to time when it was first turned on. Nothing major, just the sign of a dying bulb, but it was especially annoying as Charles dug through his medicine cabinet.

“The cut isn’t so bad,” Charles reassured him.

“Yipee,” Magnus replied with a roll of his eyes.

Magnus made a bothered noise at the antiseptic on his cut. Just a little whine and his head rearing back to escape the sting, but Charles’ free hand slipped to the back of his skull to hold him in place. There was a sudden stillness to Magnus’ body as he did so and Charles scratched at his scalp in a little reward for sitting calmly while he tended to him.

“That’s it, really, right?” Charles looked Magnus over for a second. “Oh, I didn’t see your arm.”

A bruise had already started to turn a dark purple on his arm from what was probably a punch. And a hard one, too, Charles’ skin prickling with anger at the cause for a brief moment. Regardless, he ran his fingers over it and watched as Magnus’ eyebrows knit together in discomfort at the sensation.

“You should take a shower,” he said as he brushed a stray curl from Magnus’ face.

“In the morning,” Magnus protested.

“In the morning, then,” Charles smiled. “You should go to bed, then. It’s late.”

“You’re just tired,” teased Magnus.

“I am. No shame in that,” he smiled before kissing Magnus on the forehead. “Come to bed, Mag.”

Magnus had spent plenty of time in Charles’ bed. Almost countless after even a few months. He was over more often than Charles had realized. Implications that - of what that meant, of whether or not he was missed at the graffiti covered mess known as Mordhaus or not - were shoved out of Charles’ brain for the night. He had enough to worry about and he was going to go to bed for the night. He curled up in his sheets, rolled onto his side, shut his eyes and tried to will himself asleep.

The light on the other side of the bed did not turn off. There was no body curling next to his like a big cat. There wasn’t even the slightest noise. Charles rolled over onto his other side and with his blurry vision saw Magnus upright against his headboard and staring into the wall.

“Lay down,” Charles said softly. He tugged on Magnus’ wrist.

“I’m gonna puke if I lay down,” mumbled Magnus sleepily, dragging his hands over his face. He still sounded drunk so Charles assumed that he probably was nauseous.

"I'd prefer if you didn't," Charles whispered. "You want some food?"

“I’m gonna puke if I eat,” Magnus said. He looked down at Charles and smiled. “C’mere.”

Charles did _c’mere_. He scooted closer in the bed and shifted his pillow until he lay flush against Magnus’ side. They sat quietly and Charles’ eyes grew heavy, his brain sluggish, his body warm as it sank into the softness of his bed. Then Magnus hiccuped and dragged him from his sleep again.

“You should drink some water,” urged Charles. “Don’t say you’ll vomit. If it’s just water it won’t be so bad, anyway.”

Magnus shook his head stubbornly. Another hiccup.

“Magnus-”

“I don’t feel good.”

“I know you’re sick, but you can’t just sit and-”

“It’s not that.”

Maybe it was the fact that he didn’t have his glasses on, but Charles could have sworn Magnus was crying. There was a little thin glimmer on Magnus’ cheek and he watched him rub it away with his thumb.

“I didn’t mean to wake you up, or keep you up, or drag you out there,” Magnus said softly. He ran his hands through his hair to push it out of his face, sighing heavily. “I just...I dunno. You’re nice.”

Charles shifted so he was looking up at him more directly, resting his hand on Magnus’ thigh and squeezing it reassuringly.

“You take care of me,” he continued to talk. “You...fuck, I’m fucked up. Drunk.”

“I know,” Charles soothed. “It’s okay.”

“I fucked up. With the fight. I’m sorry,” Magnus’ hand grabbed for Charles’ now, fingers threading together to hold. “I just...God. Things go wrong and first thing I think is to get you. You fix stuff.”

“Do I?” asked Charles.

“Uh-huh,” Magnus replied with a solemn nod. “You should go to bed, babe.”

"You should drink some water and lay down. Okay?" Charles peered at Magnus from under his eyelashes and smiled. "Okay?"

He pat Magnus' thigh.

"Okay," Magnus relented and sighed, standing with a little heave.

Charles hadn’t even realized that Magnus had worn his jeans in the bed. He could of sworn there was a pair of sweatpants or pajama pants or _something_ that Magnus had left behind that were lying around, but Charles was too tired to remember where they were to get them. He heard the very distant, far off sound of his fridge opening. The sound of a soda can, definitely not water, cracking open with a metallic clack and a hiss of carbonation. The sound of it hitting the trash can. And finally the sound of bare feet padding on the wooden floor of the hallway leading back to Charles’ room.

“Jeans,” Charles whispered with closed eyes.

Magnus grunted and he heard the zipper, and the belt buckle, the sound of fabric being tossed somewhere. And he felt the rush of cold air as the sheets were lifted and Magnus crawled next to him. He turned to face him and laughed at how they mutually grabbed at each other in the dark to draw each other closer. Charles’ hands fell on bare, bony hips and he felt Magnus’ chin tuck over his head. Thin arms wrapped around Charles and he swallowed a laugh as he felt Magnus’ toes wiggle against his for a moment.

The two of them lay there for some time. And Charles drifted off, curled around Magnus happily, listening to Magnus' gentle breathing and nothing else.

The sound of retching woke Charles up. His clock blinked at him from his bedside table. Six in the morning. He sighed as he sat up on his elbows and stared at the door. Another heave from the bathroom.

“Magnus?” he called in an almost cautious tone. He cracked his neck and stretched as he sat up in bed fully.

“Don’t worry, I’m-” Magnus probably meant to say that he was fine. Judging by the gagging that interrupted him, he was not fine.

All Charles could do was rub the sleep from his eyes and walk down the hall, stopping at the door. He knocked politely. And again. And a third time, slightly less polite.

“It’s unlocked,” was the tiny voice on the other side.

Charles opened the door and saw Magnus sprawled out naked on the tile, head pillowed by his arms on the toilet bowl, and looking absolutely green. His eyes were hooded and bloodshot and were looking up at Charles morosely, giving him the appearance of an old basset hound. Charles just grabbed one of the paper cups near the sink and filled it, handing it over to Magnus without a word. He was glad he took the hint, switched it in his mouth and spat into the water. And he took the mouthwash with the same resigned sigh too. Charles gingerly flushed the toilet and offered his hand to Magnus, who waved it away.

"I still feel bad," Magnus groaned. "I didn't...didn't sleep at all."

"I'm sorry," replied Charles. He sat down on the floor next to him. 

Magnus huffed a sigh and stretched out across Charles’ lap as if that would fix his nausea. Charles’ fingers began to work to occupy himself. They picked apart tangles and knots in the mane of curls that had fanned out across his skin, scratched at the scalp by Magnus’ temples, tucked hair behind his ears and pushed it off of the nape of his neck to cool him. Charles played with the earring in Magnus’ now exposed ear and noted how surprisingly quiet Magnus was. That wasn’t a good sign, it probably meant that Magnus was even more sick than he was letting on. He wanted to blame it on the soda, blame it on the liquor, blame it on the lack of food.

But this was not the time to place the blame on anything.

So he just sat there and played with Magnus' hair.

"I'm sorry," Magnus whispered into his lap.

"It's okay. Stop apologizing so much," Charles replied.

He should be apologizing, though, in the long run. But Charles still felt the need to try and brush past these feelings for the time being, unless if he wanted Magnus to start sobbing into his lap. A cathartic cry would probably do Magnus some good. Just not right now. It would just make him more sick and Magnus’ fever pitch emotions when he was drunk should not be made sad.

It just made it worse.

There was that brief flash of worry in Charles’ brain. Did he make things worse, too? Was he an enabler, nothing more, nothing less? There were so many things he needed to talk with Magnus about that Magnus always danced around with sure footwork and jabs of his own. And if Magnus could read minds, he would have said that the fencing metaphor was the reason why conversations like that were so hard with Charles.

“Magnus-” Charles began softly. Maybe they should have this conversation.

There was no sound except for a little snore. Of course. Charles couldn’t help but smirk to himself and continued to pet Magnus’ hair. That was all he could do, at least for right now. Magnus hadn’t been able to sleep and was sick and now he was sleeping it off finally.

Charles fixed things after all.

If he enabled Magnus too much, he could fix that, too. Somehow.

"You're putting my legs to sleep," Charles whispered.

Magnus didn't move.

"That's okay," he added. "You need to sleep."

Charles made a soft noise under his breath as he reached behind him for one of the books on the little shelf of hand towels. He rested against the shelf in full, tried to stretch out his already aching legs as much as Magnus would allow, and opened whatever it was. It was a blur without his glasses but he had to have something to do. And at least Magnus made a decent enough desk to read on as he slept, Charles still playing with stray ringlets to keep his hand occupied.

Magnus didn’t stir by the first chapter. Or even the second. That unpleasant tingle in Charles’ body from his hips to his toes persisted and grew worse but he tried to ignore it. It was about halfway through the third chapter that he finally had to give up.

"Magnus?" he shook him softly by the shoulder. Magnus stirred slightly under his touch and groaned in protest. "Magnus, wake up."

"Aw, fuck," Magnus groaned again as he tried to bat away Charles' hand. "What's the matter Charlie?"

"I really need to get up," he replied softly. He smoothed back his hair again and looked down at him with a sad, apologetic look. "I'm sorry."

"S'okay," grunted Magnus as he sat up. He rubbed his face and held his head in his hands for a moment. There was a sigh, a crackle of his back as he twisted it, and he finally stood on shaking legs. "Fuck."

"Yeah," Charles replied with a little smile.

The book was set back on the shelf and Charles stood on legs that were fawn-like with how badly they trembled. He found himself laughing as his knees buckled and Magnus caught him. And after a few shaking, painful steps to get his blood flow going, Charles found himself falling into his bed again despite himself.

"I need to get my day started," it wasn't even particularly directed at Magnus. He looked at his clock again. It was already past when he would usually be up.

"You don't," replied Magnus pitifully. Wrapping around Charles again, he smiled and buried his face into his neck. "You can stay in bed with me."

"M-hm," Charles sighed. It was a tempting offer. "I could sleep in, I suppose. Maybe stay until about ten or so."

There was the feeling of teeth against his skin that made him jump.

"I said sleep," he repeated with a dry chuckle. "And, God, Magnus you need to go to bed, period. Have you slept at all?"

"I woke up at like...mmmm, I dunno, like...seven? Yesterday?" Magnus shrugged helplessly. "I've been awake for like twelve hours. Not so bad. Graveyard shift, baby!"

Another little nibble where his neck met his shoulder. He shimmied away from the biting and tried his best to give Magnus an admonishing look. Hands still made their way to his face and he gently stroked Magnus' cheek, a smile playing on the corners of his mouth as he tried his best to look stern.

"Magnus, go to bed. Even for just a few hours," his voice was a coaxing whisper as he talked. "Just sleep with me."

"I wanna say sorry," pouted Magnus.

"Say you're sorry by taking care of yourself and going to sleep. Okay?" Charles said with a kiss to Magnus’ nose.

"Okay..." Magnus’ gaze darted as Charles tried to meet his eyes.

"Good. Goodnight Magnus," he whispered softly.

"Good morning, Charlie," Magnus chuckled at his own joke.

And Charles fell asleep, the urgent need for a conversation about the night’s events leaving his brain. For now. He could talk about everything later, couldn’t he? He always had later.


End file.
